Ambassador Sarek and the Terrible Twos
by TomFoolery
Summary: When a scheduling conflict leaves Sarek alone with Spock for the day, he reassures his wife that he's capable of caring for their child – after all, he's a successful diplomat with a penchant for logic and adapting to new situations. Unfortunately, he's about to learn that his son doesn't care about his credentials and toddlers are impervious to rational behavior.
1. Missing

He could hear Spock's choppy steps pattering up the hallway, followed by Amanda's inevitable shouting.

"Spock, _stop_!"

A high-pitched giggle was the only response, and moments later, the tiny figure of his shirtless son teetered into the kitchen with Amanda on his heels, waving a small blue shirt like a flag.

In a singular motion, she caught him by the arm with one hand and pulled the shirt over his head with the other. His small head popped through the neck of the shirt, but his arms struggled to find the sleeves and he began to whimper with frustration. Amanda knelt to adjust the shirt's fit, and after a brief bout of screaming, Spock was clothed and attempting to trot away again. She caught him under the arms and lifted him to her hip instead.

"You need to listen to me when I tell you to stop," she said, waving her finger at him.

" _Kroikah_?" the child muttered in Vuhlkansu.

"Yes, kroikah. _Stop_."

Her face was firm but her voice was full of frustration, and Spock began to bounce up and down and mimic, "Stop stop stop."

Sarek was concerned about his wife's inability to control her emotions in front of their son, and often urged her to employ a Vulcan nursemaid to help Spock better learn to control his emotions at this vital stage in his development.

Nearly three years earlier, he'd resigned his post as ambassador to Earth, but his schedule had remained busy. Recurring conflicts between the Federation and Coridan and his duties at the Vulcan Science Academy had caused him to miss much of Spock's short life, but now that diplomatic tensions were settling, he felt compelled to be a more present figure at home. Spock was nearly two years of age, and for all of Amanda's wonderful qualities as a mother, she wasn't setting the most Vulcan example for their son.

Spock began to whine to be let down, but Amanda ignored his pleas, which caused Spock to start pulling on her shirt.

" _Down_ ," he proclaimed. " _Let down_!"

"Let _me_ down?" she corrected.

Spock nodded impatiently.

"Will you stay right here while I make you breakfast?" she asked, pointing down to her feet.

Spock nodded.

She lowered him to the floor, and he briefly looked up at her before darting back into the hallway into another fit of giggles.

Amanda covered her face with her hands and sighed.

"The child needs more discipline," he said, taking a sip of his plomeek soup.

" _You don't_ _say_?" she snapped, wheeling around to face him.

"You must learn to better control your emotions, or else Spock will never learn to control his," he said.

"Look, I'm trying my best, but he's _two_. It's like you think he should already be quoting passages from the _Teachings of Surak_."

"I did not imply that," he replied.

They were approaching an argument that would end without resolution. He understood this, because they'd already had the same argument four times since he'd returned home from Coridan two days earlier. She was raising him as she would a human child, but Spock was not human. Her argument that he was not fully Vulcan was equally valid, but they had agreed before he was born to raise him according to Surak's teachings.

Amanda's PADD began to chirp, and as she stepped forward to answer it, Spock screamed from the hallway and began to cry. She grabbed the device with an unusual amount of force and rushed after the source of the wailing.

He drank the rest of the broth, set his bowl in the sink, and found them in Spock's bedroom. Amanda was sitting on the corner of his tiny bed, holding him in her lap and patting him on the back with her right hand while he sobbed against her chest. Her brow was set in irritation, and her left hand was holding her PADD out to read over Spock's shoulder.

"They need a backup guest speaker at the Academy for a xenolinguistics panel," she said, tossing the PADD behind her onto the bed.

It bounced on the mattress, and she hung her head in her hand while Spock continued to cry.

"Why _today_ of all days?"

Since they'd relocated to Vulcan several years earlier, Amanda had struggled to make use of her education and language skills. His wife was a brilliant linguist and educator, and was occasionally called upon to give guest lectures at both Shi'Khar Academy and the Vulcan Science Academy.

"Why is today inopportune?"

"There's no one to watch him," she said, gesturing to Spock, whose sobs had turned to hiccups. "Though maybe- I don't know, let me look…"

"I am unoccupied today," he explained.

She reached for her PADD and began scrolling through a list of contacts and mumbled, "That's nice."

"I intended to imply that I could supervise him."

Amanda snorted and looked at him with an expression that bordered on derision.

"You?"

"Yes."

" _You_?"

"Why does this confuse you?"

She looked down and started to laugh. Before he could ask after the source of her amusement, she asked, "Do you know what time he eats lunch? Takes a nap? When was the last time you changed a diaper? Cleaned up puke?"

"You may be the more proficient caretaker, but I believe I am capable of following simple instructions."

Amanda looked down at their son, who looked up at her with eyes stained green from crying. Mucous streamed from his nose and she wiped it with the collar of her nightshirt.

An hour later, she was rushing out the door with her shoulder bag in hand. Sarek and Spock stood by the garage door to bid her goodbye, and just as the door closed, it flew back open and her head poked through.

"And _don't_ give him the kaasa juice in the fridge. It's been making his tummy hurt lately."

"That was item number twenty-three on your list of things to avoid," he reminded her. "And 'tummy' is not an anatomically correct term."

The door closed again, and seconds later, reopened. His wife strolled through it purposefully and breezed past them both.

"I forgot to check the portico door," she called over her shoulder. "He's tall enough to reach the handle now."

Sarek and Spock exchanged glances. Several seconds later, Amanda raced back around the corner and slowed as she approached them.

"I don't know about this," she sighed, eyeing Spock. "I'll be gone all day. What if…"

Sarek took his wife's left hand in a finger embrace. She was visibly anxious, and Spock was watching.

"It is illogical to believe you can prepare for every eventuality," he explained. "Spock and I are capable of enduring your short absence."

She bit her lip and looked back down at their son.

"I left the contact information of his pediatric healer, right?"

"Yes."

She had also left the contact information for every emergency medical center within a one hundred kilometer radius. It was truly puzzling that his wife should think him incapable of so basic a task as locating information in the event of an emergency, but he supposed it was an attempt to mitigate her human tendency to worry.

"I believe you will be late," he said.

" _Yeah_ ," she sighed, turning to walk out the door in her third attempt to leave.

He sensed she would return, and she did twelve seconds later, but rather than allow her back inside, he followed her out to the garage and opened the door to the shuttlecar. With a little more protesting, she took up a position in the driver's seat and started the engine.

The window rolled down, and she said, "You will call me if anything happens, right?"

He'd tried in vain to explain the illogic of such a demand. "Anything" implied _any_ action or event, which by such a definition would be guaranteed to happen. Rather than argue over the imprecision of her language, he simply said, "Yes."

Moments later, the shuttlecar backed out of the garage and inched down the driveway. He shut the bay door as he watched her pull onto the main road, and then he reentered the house.

 _Spock was nowhere to be seen._

"Spock?"

 _No reply._


	2. Tantrums

Sarek moved purposefully, his sensitive ears scanning for the presence of his son. He paused a moment to listen more closely, and could hear rustling coming from his study.

He turned the corner into the main hallway and found the tiny blue shirt Amanda had dressed him in earlier that morning, and a meter away was his cloth diaper. The door to his private office was ajar, and he pushed it open to see Spock standing completely naked by the window with his hands pressed against the glass.

" _Spock_."

The child didn't acknowledge him, and when Sarek stepped forward to collect him, he slipped on the smooth stone floor and landed awkwardly on his back with enough force to cause his diaphragm to spasm, which caused Spock to squeal with absurd delight. Sarek sat up and rubbed the back of his head, but when he put his left hand down, he noticed the floor was wet, and so was the back of his shirt.

 _Spock had urinated on the floor._

He took a brief moment to suppress a budding, reflexive disgust and gather his patience, and then he stood.

"Spock, come here."

His son didn't move.

"I told you to come here."

Spock offered no visible reaction. Sarek knew he understood the command, but he also knew from observing his interactions with Amanda that he possessed a preference for defiance.

"If you will not come to me, then I shall be forced to come to you. You would be wise to obey."

Spock still didn't move. In two long, calm steps, Sarek was upon him. Spock attempted to dart around him and run away, but he underestimated the length of his father's arms.

" _No_!" he screeched.

"Yes," Sarek said.

He took extra care to keep his voice level, determined to set a proper example of emotional control. Spock seemed oblivious to the lesson, however, and began to writhe and scream, " _No no no_!"

"Yes."

"Rai!" Spock wailed. " _Rai_!"

He was fascinated by his son's attempt to communicate in Vuhlkansu when English failed to yield the results he wanted, but rather than risk exacerbating his tantrum by replying in English, he simply replied in Vuhlkansu, "Ah." _Yes_.

"Let down," Spock pleaded. "Put _down_."

"Put _me_ down," Sarek corrected, just as Amanda had done.

"Put ne _'_?" Spock wondered, confusing the English word _me_ with the Vuhlkansu word _ne_ ', which meant "down."

He pointed his tiny right index finger to the floor and whimpered. Sarek understood that at least some of his son's emotional outbursts likely stemmed from his inability to adequately communicate with a limited vocabulary and muddled pronunciation.

Amanda insisted on raising him to be bilingual, rather than allow him to acquire Federation Standard English at school, which was possibly adding to Spock's confusion. Vuhlkansu and English were completely unlike in terms of phonology and syntax, and he'd noticed that Spock had an understandable tendency to use both lexical systems as one language.

"The correct statement is 'put me down,'" Sarek repeated. "Put _me_ down."

Spock's face contorted in momentary confusion, but his brow relaxed and he said hopefully, "Put me down?"

" _Please_ ," Sarek added, wishing to take the opportunity to impart manners. "Put me down, please."

"Putmedownplease," Spock echoed.

He decided to comply with his son's request to reinforce his usage of proper grammar and calm, polite communication.

"It is inappropriate to remove your clothing in a setting that is not private," Sarek began to explain.

His lecture fell on deaf ears. The moment Spock was returned to the ground, he scampered through the puddle on the floor and straight for the door, leaving a trail of small footprints in his wake.

It was troublesome that his son had so much difficulty remaining still and focused – almost as troublesome as the urine on the floor of his study.

He sidestepped the puddle and went in pursuit of Spock once again. He collected the shirt and diaper on his way back down the hall, and found the child staring from the wall into the central atrium of their home where Amanda kept a small garden.

"Outside," Spock pointed, pressing his finger against the glass.

"Spock, it is inappropriate to be in communal areas of the house without clothing."

"I want to go outside."

"Spock, listen to me," Sarek said firmly, holding up the clothing. "You will wear clothing in this part of the house."

Spock held out his arms, a gesture that Sarek took to understand meant that he would allow himself to be dressed, but he turned his gaze to the window.

"No, you relieved yourself on the floor of my study, and as a result you must get clean."

"I want to go outside," he insisted, bouncing up and down.

"You will come with me."

" _Outside_?"

Sarek realized Spock was determined to persist in his obstinacy, so he bent down to pick him up. Spock sensed what was coming and attempted to flee again, but Sarek was faster, and Spock curled into the fetal position and began to struggle and scream, " _Outside_!"

The shrieking continued down the hallway and into the guest bathroom, where the hard surfaces of the tiled walls amplified the sound. Spock had remarkable lungs, and he quickly suppressed the nibble of irritation that his son's irrational behavior began to elicit in him.

By the time Sarek was done cleaning the lower half of his body in the sonic shower, Spock was completely beside himself. His demands to go outdoors had turned into tears, which soon evolved into choking, hiccups, and streams of mucous.

It would be illogical to attempt to reason with him while he was so emotional, so when they were done in the bathroom, he carried Spock to his bedroom to dress him.

This simple act was also met with fierce resistance. Sarek had never diapered a child, and though it turned out to be a simple enough task, it was made difficult by Spock's relentless squirming. When he attempted to clothe him in a clean, gray shirt, Spock's eyes grew wide and he yelled, " _No_! Want blue!"

"You wish to wear the blue shirt?"

"Yes. _Blue_ ," Spock huffed.

"This is the shirt I have selected for you," Sarek told him.

" _No_!"

"There is no difference between this shirt and the blue shirt you wore earlier aside from color," he explained.

Spock persisted in his irrational belief that there _was_ , and so began another twenty minute battle of wills and tears. It disturbed him that his son could be so passionate about the color of a shirt. He had always harbored a quiet concern that Spock's humanity would be a severe handicap to proper emotional development, and the events of the past hour were beginning to confirm his misgivings.

Amanda insisted such behavior was normal for a child of his age, human or Vulcan, but Sarek wasn't so sure. He decided to research it further at the earliest opportunity, and turned his attention back to stuffing Spock's short, flailing legs into a pair of small trousers.

As Sarek finished dressing him, he noticed Spock's eyelids begin to droop, and less than a minute later, he was sound asleep in his father's arms. He located a small terrycloth hand towel and wiped the wet emotional residue from his cheeks and chin, and positioned him on his back in the middle of the small bed.

He stood and inhaled deeply to collect his focus. His son was more willful and illogical than he'd realized, and Sarek resolved to provide him with more consistent guidance in accordance with Vulcan customs.

As he left Spock to his slumber, he activated the low-energy force field on the threshold that Amanda often referred to as a "baby gate" and shut the door. He made his way to the master bedroom and saw I-Chaya, the family's pet sehlat, sitting anxiously by the portico entrance. He let the animal outside, and then stripped himself of his urine-soaked clothing.

 _Yes, his son was in_ dire _need of guidance._

He took several extra minutes in the sonic shower to lightly meditate and recenter himself, and emerged twenty minutes later. He dressed and prepared to clean the mess Spock had left on the floor of his study.

On his way to the kitchen to collect the necessary supplies, he noted Spock's bedroom door was slightly ajar. He was certain he'd shut it tightly, and when he gently pushed it open, he saw his son was no longer lying in bed.

"Spock?"

He put his hand through the threshold: the force field was inactive.

" _Spock_?"

He scanned the bedroom and turned to march back down the hall when he heard his data PADD chirping from his study. His hurry to acknowledge the transmission and his distraction over his son's unruly behavior produced a rare moment of inattention, and he stepped barefooted into the urine that coated the floor by his desk.

His teeth gritted almost on instinct, but he consciously relaxed his jaw and collected his PADD.

 _Amanda_.

She had called twice and left five messages during the time he was in the shower. His wife could be highly emotional on matters concerning their son, so it seemed wise to postpone communication with her until he had located the child. He silenced the incoming communication alert and skimmed the contents of her written messages.

 _1015_ _–_ _When you feed him lunch, please use the plastic dishes.  
_ _1017 – Also, he's started getting picky about eating certain foods. Don't let him get away with it. If he refuses to eat, let him go hungry.  
_ _1018 – But make sure he stays hydrated.  
_ _1022 – One more thing. He's figured out how to deactivate the baby gate on his door.  
_ _1028 – Sarek?_

He gingerly stepped to the guest bathroom to clean his feet and then searched every conceivable area of the house for his son.

 _No success._

His PADD chirped again and then chimed with another message.

 _1040 – What are you doing? Please answer._

Her persistence was indicative of worry, and as he'd told her countless times before, worry was illogical.

He moved to the back of the house to perform a more thorough and methodical search, but as he passed the door to the master suite, he felt an unanticipated rush of warm air.

 _The portico door was cracked._

He had left it unlatched when he'd let I-Chaya out, and between Amanda's warnings that he was tall enough to reach the handle and Spock's earlier demands to go outside, the exterior of the house seemed the most logical place to resume his search.

The desert surrounding their estate was not a place for a child ignorant to danger. It was home to sixteen species of poisonous reptiles, several species of predatory mammals, approximately thirty species of toxic plants, and various stinging and biting insects. Worry was illogical, but he hurried to collect the appropriate footwear and made his way to the outdoor terrace.

Spock's clothes were once again in a heap on the outdoor stone patio, and Spock was nowhere to be seen.

His PADD started to chirp again, and he knew he could not continue to ignore his wife. He was about to answer her transmission when he heard a sharp scream radiate from a collection of boulders approximately thirty meters to his left. It was unlike any sound he'd ever heard his son utter, and it spoke to a part of his consciousness that always remained hidden under thick layers of rationality and self-control. _Almost_ always.

Worry was illogical, but he ran barefooted in the direction of his son's cries all the same.


	3. Injuries

Spock's cries were joined by the sounds of snarling, yelping, and scuffling. Sarek broke into a sprint.

A sharp pain pierced his foot but he continued at a dogged pace down to the outcropping of boulders. Spock had stopped screaming, and though Sarek could sense through the paternal bond he'd forged with his son on the day of his birth that Spock was safe, he didn't slow until he located him.

He spotted I-Chaya first, and it took several moments to process the scene.

A juvenile sa-te kru lay dead at I-Chaya's feet, and Spock was naked and huddled into the sehlat's rust-colored, blood-slicked fur. I-Chaya was licking the top of Spock's head, training his fine black hair away from his forehead.

He quickly grabbed his son and began to examine him. His small, heaving chest was smeared with red blood, but he could see no visible bite marks or evidence of Spock's copper-based green blood. _He was uninjured._

Spock was breathing heavily and shaking, and he pointed to the dead sa-te-kru with a look of abject horror.

" _Not_ Euclid."

Euclid was his wife's cat, a scrappy black and white creature she'd insisted on bringing with them when they moved to Vulcan. The sa-te kru was a cat-like animal with black fur that loosely resembled a large, domestic Terran feline, and it seemed apparent that Spock had mistaken the wild animal for a pet.

Spock was too young to understand his father's regret at the needless death of the sa-te kru. They were a predatory species that often made dens at the bases of large boulders such as these. The animal had been ignorant of Spock's ignorance, and had almost certainly been defending its home against a perceived threat.

He was grateful for I-Chaya's intervention and that I-Chaya had also escaped the encounter without injury, but he was disappointed that his son's reckless and disobedient behavior had forced the sehlat to intervene. Spock was still trembling and began to whine, and Sarek repositioned him on his hip to look him squarely in the face.

His wispy eyebrows were furrowed with a mixture of frustration and confusion, and Sarek understood that his son was not ready to comprehend the lesson of the dead animal lying on the ground less than a meter away. _Regrettable_.

He took several steps and discovered the pain in his right foot had amplified considerably. He balanced carefully on his left to examine the damage, and saw a diagonal, ten-centimeter long gash set deeply into the arch of his foot. Dark green blood seeped out, but was being semi-coagulated by the reddish soil. _Regrettable_.

As he began to limp back to the house with I-Chaya by his side, he could hear the faint sound of his PADD chirping in the distance. He had left it on the portico in his hurry to locate Spock.

"Putmedownplease," Spock said.

"No."

" _Yes_!"

"No."

" _Now_."

His son's words came out in something resembling a growl.

"No," he repeated. "It is inapt to make demands-"

Sarek's explanation about the impropriety of his son's behavior was interrupted by Spock's high-pitched squeals. He screamed all the way back to the portico.

Sarek stooped to pick up the clothes Spock had shed and left in a heap at the top of the stairs, and for a brief second, they were both slightly off-balance. Spock seemed to sense this and seized the opportunity to escape from his father's clutches, but unfortunately, he had underdeveloped reflexes.

He twisted his torso and managed to free himself, but rather than land gracefully on his feet, he landed facedown onto the stone tile. The shrill wailing resumed. _Regrettable_.

He immediately retrieved Spock from the ground to assess the severity of his injuries. His chin had been split open and blood flowed down the side of his jaw. He grabbed his son, his son's clothes, and the PADD, and hobbled in the direction of the master bathroom.

He pulled the medical kit from the cabinet and set his son on the counter, standing defensively over him in the event that Spock decided to attempt additional feats of gymnastics. His son's crying had waned into soft sobbing, and the blood dripping from his chin was now intermixed with tears and phlegm.

"There is a reason you are given instructions; often they are given for your safety," he said as he wiped Spock's chin and prepared to suture it with the dermal regenerator. "Are you listening to me?"

Spock made eye contact but didn't reply. His eyes were green from crying, and possessed a doleful quality that was remarkably _human_.

His PADD chirped again and he accepted the audio transmission.

" _Sarek_?"

"Amanda."

"What are you doing? I've been calling and calling. You had me so worried."

"Worry is ill-"

" _Illogical_. Yes, I know. Why didn't you answer?"

He looked down at his son, who was transfixed by the sound of his mother's voice emanating from the device on the counter. His newfound curiosity had led him to abandon his grief entirely. Sarek seized the opportunity to begin mending the gash on Spock's chin.

"Sarek? Why didn't you answer?" she repeated.

"Spock and I went for a walk."

"A walk?"

"Yes."

"Did you make sure to cover him up? His skin is really sensitive to burning, and-"

"We were not out of doors for long."

"Well, _ok_. How has everything been going?"

His eyes scanned the bloody footprints on the floor, his son's tear-streaked, bloody face, and Spock's bare chest coated in the blood of a dead sa-te kru. He thought of the nonfunctional force field and the urine on the floor of his study.

" _Sarek_?"

"Everything is satisfactory."

" _Satisfactory_?"

"Yes."

"I guess I was just nervous, because he got to bed a little later than usual last night and he didn't get much of a nap yesterday, so I was worried he would be a little grumpy."

 _"A little grumpy" was a marked understatement._

He finished healing Spock's chin and examined the result. There was a faint line, and he hoped it would fade before Amanda returned home. He put Spock on his hip, grabbed his PADD, and moved to the bedroom to dress his son once again.

" _Sarek_? Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Did you get my messages?"

"I did."

He felt a warm, wet feeling spreading over his abdomen and looked down. _More urine._

"Have you been making sure Spock's staying hydrated?"

He watched the urine drip from his shirt onto the floor and replied, "I am sure he is sufficiently hydrated, yes."

"Well, it's about lunchtime, so I'll let you go. I'm glad everything is ok. He can be a little tough to deal with at this stage, but I never should have doubted you. I love you."

"Yes. I await your return this evening."

He ended the transmission and stared at Spock. The small child was oblivious to his most recent wrongdoing.

He bathed Spock again with minimal struggle, and fortunately, the crisis of the gray shirt was forgotten, and Spock allowed himself to be dressed with less protest than he'd exhibited earlier. Sarek needed to shower once again and treat his injured foot, and he considered his options for restraining his son from running away.

He walked his son to his bedroom, set him on the floor with some early childhood logic puzzles, and examined the force field generator installed on the jamb of the door. One of the bolts was loose, and he pushed it back in with his thumb and activated the system, and heard the soft hum of energy radiate outward. _Everything seemed in order._

He noticed Spock was watching him carefully.

"Spock, are you listening?"

Spock nodded.

"I am going to shower. You will remain here with your clothing on; do you understand?"

Spock nodded again.

"I require your verbal acknowledgment."

Spock cocked his head slightly and repeated, "Ver-ball?"

"Do you understand my instructions, yes or no?"

"Yes."

"What were my instructions?"

"Ver-ball," Spock said cheerfully, twisting the sides of a multi-colored toy that Amanda called a Rubik's cube.

He decided to take a more leading approach.

"Where will you be?" Sarek quizzed.

"Here."

"Where will your clothing be?"

"On."

Sarek nodded his head slightly and double-checked the sturdiness of the force field generator mount. He shut the door behind him and pulled on the handle. _It was shut tightly._

Tending to his foot proved to be slow work. It took him almost half an hour to remove the small rocks and flush out the sand with antimicrobial solution before he could close the wound. He stood and flexed his foot, noting the dull ache present in the arch.

For the second time that morning, he stripped himself of his urine-soaked clothing and showered, choosing to forgo another period of meditation. He had already left Spock unsupervised for longer than he intended, so he finished his shower and dressed quickly.

He ensured the latch on the portico door was closed, donned his shoes, and headed in the direction of his son's bedroom. The moment he pushed the door open, there was an audible crack, a thump, and then the sharp echo of screams trailing down the hallway.

He nudged the door open to see Spock lying on his back and howling in agony and shock. _He had just opened the door into his son's face._

Sarek knelt down to make sure he didn't have a serious head or neck injury, and Spock rolled over onto all fours to push himself up into a standing position. He stumbled forward and embraced his father.

This gesture was very human: it was one Amanda often performed for their son as a means of providing comfort. Sarek gently touched his back and said, "Spock, calm down."

The only response was wailing. He exhaled slowly and waited for Spock to cease his emotional outburst, but Spock only nestled further into Sarek's arms.

Sarek curbed a momentary feeling of self-reproach: he had injured his son. He had not done it deliberately and the incident would not have occurred if Spock had heeded his instructions, but his child was in pain.

The urge to console him was stronger than he would have imagined, but he suppressed it, just as Spock needed to learn to do. It was important for his son to find a means to calm himself rather than seek comfort from others, so Sarek pulled back and said firmly, "Spock, listen to me."

His cries had turned into gasping breaths and he looked up at his father.

"Spock, are you listening?"

He nodded.

"Then say 'yes' if you are listening."

"Yes," Spock hiccupped.

"You were told to stay in your room. You did not comply, and thus you were unintentionally injured."

"No," Spock said, shaking his head.

"Yes."

"No," Spock insisted. "You said _here_."

"I said you-"

He paused. _Spock was correct._

Sarek of Vulcan, ambassador to Earth and respected logician and orator, had spoken imprecisely and had been corrected by his son who was not yet two years old.

His exact words had been, "you will remain here with your clothing on; do you understand?" He had not specified where "here" was.

"What does 'here' mean, Spock?"

"Here," Spock replied, pointing to Sarek.

"The word 'here' means at a specific place or position," he explained. "When it is not specified, it is understood to mean where _you_ are located. When I said 'you will remain here,' I intended for you to remain in your room."

The look on his son's face indicated he did not understand what his father was trying to convey. It occurred to Sarek that the usual use of the word "here" for Spock was given in the phrase "come here." It was reasonable to assume that Spock may have incorrectly defined the word "here" to mean the location of either his mother or his father. It would certainly explain why Spock had been waiting by the door to the master bedroom: he had been attempting to obey.

He repressed another twinge of guilt and gently palpated Spock's face. He yelped and tried to pull away, and Sarek was certain he would bear a very large, very dark bruise there within the next several hours. Amanda would be upset. _Regrettable_.

"It is time for the midday meal," Sarek said, rising to his feet.

"Yes, hungry," Spock nodded, taking off at a trot for the kitchen.

Sarek stopped briefly to analyze Spock's door, noting the mount of the generator was still secure, but the force field was once again inactive. He ran his hands along the doorframe and began to examine the technology, but he could hear Spock moving about in the kitchen. He abandoned his investigation and hurried to prevent his son from incurring any additional injuries. He found Spock standing with the upper portion of his body inside the refrigeration unit.

"Patience," Sarek said, pulling him back.

"No," Spock exclaimed, trying in vain to push his much larger father out of the way.

It seemed his moment of understanding with his son had passed, and Spock was once again determined to be obstinate and opinionated.

"Juice," Spock insisted, pointing at the decanter with the dark purple kaasa juice.

"It gives you digestive issues, according to your mother," he explained. "You may have water."

Spock squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, but rather than wait for the official commencement of the tantrum, Sarek scooped him up and deposited him into the box seat at the breakfast table. Spock immediately moved to climb down, and so began a thirty-minute battle of wills that Sarek won, though by a narrower margin than before.

Eventually Spock settled and began to eat the dried fruit and cereal he'd been given, and Sarek sat down to a bowl of barkaya marak, a creamy soup made of savory legumes.

"What's that?" Spock said, pointing to the dish in front of his father.

"Barkaya marak," he explained.

"I want that," Spock announced.

"You will eat what you have been offered."

"I want _that_ ," Spock reiterated, pointing to the bowl in front of Sarek.

"Eat your food, Spock," he insisted, pointing to the bowl in front of Spock.

Spock looked down at the bowl and then slowly back to his father. Sarek waited for the usual chorus of "no" to begin, but Spock casually pushed his bowl off the table. The porcelain dish shattered into numerous pieces and coated the floor in dry cereal. Spock reached for Sarek's bowl, but he gripped his son's tiny hand and said, "Spock, that was inexcusable."

The defiance in his son's dark eyes was… _disquieting_. _His eyes were so human._

"I do not intend to offer you another meal until later this evening," Sarek explained.

Spock glared at him. He rose from the table to collect the suction vacuum from the hall closet. He was gone for only the briefest of moments, and as he turned the corner to return to the kitchen, he saw Spock squatting on the floor.

Spock was barefoot, and Sarek surveyed the large pieces of jagged porcelain littering the floor.

"Spock, _do not move_."

Spock looked up at him quizzically and Sarek noticed an odd expression on his son's face. _He was chewing on something._ Suddenly, his small eyes went wide and he began to choke and spit blood.

Panic was illogical, but he ran in the direction of his son all the same.


	4. Reassurance

Sarek's fingers swept around the inside of Spock's mouth, which was a task made easier by the fact that Spock had spit out the large piece of porcelain and was now screaming at the full capacity of his lungs. He could feel no other broken shards, but there was too much blood to give him a clear picture of the extent of his injuries.

A flash of pain ripped through his left index finger, causing him to immediately recoil. _Spock had bitten him hard enough to draw blood_.

He gently pushed Spock's small jaw downward and turned his head toward the light to see deep lacerations on the roof of his mouth and on the inside of his lower gums.

Spock's cries were waning, but Sarek knew he needed to seek medical treatment for his son. The first aid dermal regenerator would be ineffective on the delicate epithelial cells lining the inside of his mouth, but it was of greater concern that he might have swallowed one or more of the broken porcelain pieces.

He gathered Spock and a clean white kitchen towel and headed for the garage. Amanda had left the child restraint seat by the door, so he put Spock down and set to work installing it in the back of his shuttlecar.

The number of straps was puzzling, as they folded over, under, and across other things in a needlessly elaborate and inefficient way. His finger was bleeding badly, but he chose to ignore it, and when he was nearly done with the restraints, he realized the garage was silent. _Spock was no longer crying._

He looked over the top of the shuttlecar to see Spock holding a bottle of tetralubisol, a lubricant used in the maintenance of shuttlecars. Ingesting even a few milliliters would be fatal to an individual of his size.

It was apparent that leaving his son unsupervised for _any_ length of time was imprudent, even when he was in his immediate vicinity.

" _Spock_ , _put that down_ ," he said.

As he suspected might happen, Spock ignored his order. Sarek glided around the back of the shuttlecar and reached for the bottle, but was sprayed with a jet of the tetralubisol for his efforts. Spock yelped in surprise, and then began to laugh, which caused bloody spittle to fly from his mouth.

He depressed the nozzle again, sending another jet of the lubricant in Sarek's direction, and succumbed to a fit of uncontrollable giggling. Sarek seized the bottle with considerable force, causing Spock to shriek at the injustice.

" _No_!" Spock yelled. "I want that. _Mine_!"

"That bottle contains a dangerous chemical," he said firmly. "Do you understand what the word 'dangerous' means?"

Spock had no interest in his explanation, and feebly continued to reach for the bottle in Sarek's hands. He stared at his irrational son and suppressed his disapproval and incredulity. Given the events of the past three hours, it was extraordinary that Amanda had managed to keep him alive at all.

"You will not touch this," Sarek reiterated, motioning to the bottle.

Spock still showed no indication of listening, so Sarek stooped down and showed him the bottle at eye-level, and repeatedly pushed his tiny hands away.

"This is dangerous. This is _bad_."

" _Bad_?"

"Yes."

"But I want that."

"It is illogical to desire that which will kill you."

"Killyou?"

"Kill. You."

"Kill?"

He couldn't be sure Spock would understand such an abstract concept as death. It was obvious he had little regard for danger, but that was easily explained by his inexperience. He set the tetralubisol on a high shelf, deciding that in addition to researching typical behavior for a child his age, he would also research early cognitive development to gain a better understanding of what Spock could comprehend.

Sarek wiped bloody saliva from Spock's chin with the towel, deposited him into the seat, and after a few minutes of persistent whining and struggling, managed to situate himself in the driver's seat. He searched for the nearest emergency medical center and set a course, and as he backed the vehicle out of the garage, Spock began an ecstatic chorus of "Moving! Moving!"

"Yes," Sarek answered, curious why Spock would find that so remarkable.

It was also fascinating that his injuries could be so quickly forgotten, abandoned for the momentary joy of riding in a vehicle. His son was as easy to please as he was to frustrate.

Spock rambled cheerfully for the next ten minutes, providing rudimentary commentary on their shared experience, describing the "big mountains, big" and the soaring midday temperatures as "too too hot." Sarek corrected his speech when he made errors, and Spock readily accepted the corrections, repeating the modified version back to his father.

It was evident that Spock _was_ intelligent and deeply curious of the world around him, but hindered by an inability to communicate or control himself with any degree of consistency. Until several hours before, he had wanted to fault Amanda's loving but ineffectual manner of caregiving, but his own logical approach was proving no better. It seemed more comprehensive measures were appropriate for molding their son into a more effective and restrained individuals.

When he turned off the rural highway into the outer suburbs of Shi'Kahr, he felt Spock start to struggle in the safety seat behind him.

"Remain in your seat," he said, glancing the rear monitor.

He heard a distinctive click and recognized it as the sound of a restraint buckle. He tried adjusting the angle of the monitor but still could not clearly see Spock. It had been an oversight to place him in the seat directly behind his own.

"Spock, do not unfasten your harness. Do you understand?"

Spock's head popped up over his shoulder.

" _Hello_!"

"Spock, _sit down_ ," Sarek said decisively. "Sit down right now."

Spock crawled down to the floorboard and Sarek could feel him moving behind the back of his seat. He weighed his options. He was on a busy section of highway and less than two minutes from the emergency facility, therefore it would be logical to continue despite the higher risk Spock faced while being unrestrained.

He watched the rear monitor carefully, and observed Spock crawling up onto the wide backseat.

"Spock, _sit_."

Spock shuffled on his hands and knees into a sitting position and smiled at Sarek.

"Sitting," he proclaimed proudly. "Right now."

Sarek left the highway and merged onto the city streets below, watching the navigation unit while attempting to visually identify the medical facility. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Spock standing, looking eagerly at the cityscape that lay before him.

"Spock, I told you to remain seated," Sarek said, raising his voice.

Spock looked at him innocently and Sarek was about to repeat himself when he sensed something was wrong. He snapped his head forward – traffic had stopped. He engaged the shuttlecar's braking system and felt the shudder of mechanical components and the hiss of hydraulics.

Inertia went to work on Spock, reducing him to a demonstration of elementary physics. The sudden shift in speed hurled Spock into the back of the passenger seat, and as had happened numerous times that morning, a symphony of misery commenced.

Two minutes later, Sarek pulled into the circular front drive of the hospital and extracted Spock from the passenger floorboard. His hysterics had mostly subsided, but he had hit the right side of his face on the back of the passenger seat armrest. It seemed likely he would have another bruise to match the one already forming on the left side of his face from when Sarek had hit him with the door.

Amanda would be _very_ upset.

"Spock, you were told to remain in your restraints and did not comply, and you were injured as a result. Can you understand this? If you choose to disobey my instructions, you may get hurt."

" _Hurt_? Yes, it hurt."

"It _hurts_ ," he corrected.

His son's face was the very definition of disinterest and fatigue, and Sarek knew the lesson was being disregarded.

A man from the hospital valet collected the car and Sarek carried Spock into the reception area. An intake nurse took their information and listened patiently as he explained the bruises on his face, cuts in his mouth, and poorly mended laceration on his chin. She quickly triaged Spock, taking his vitals and assessing his injuries for herself. She sniffed slightly and looked at Sarek.

"There is a chemical odor I cannot identify. Has he been exposed to anything?"

"He obtained a bottle of tetralubisol, but he did ingest any."

The nurse looked at him carefully and asked, "Are you the child's primary caregiver?"

"No, my wife is."

"I see," she said, taking note of something on a PADD.

"Have a seat and the healer will be with you shortly."

Sarek herded Spock to a small side room with fewer patients, occupied only by a woman and a small female child of Spock's approximate age. Sarek moved to take a seat at the opposite end of the room and motioned for Spock to join him, but he raced in the direction of the small girl playing with several dozen memory blocks.

"Spock," he called.

"If you have no objection, I do not mind if they interact," the woman explained. "Collaborative efforts are beneficial at their age."

Sarek nodded slightly and sat down several seats away from her to observe his son. Though Amanda made considerable effort to expose Spock to things outside the home, he did not frequently come into contact with children his age.

He noticed the girl had a deep cut in her lip and smelled mildly of burnt hair. Upon closer inspection, he could see most of the thin hair on the back of her scalp was much shorter than the rest. He was tempted to inquire about the girl's behavior as a means of comparing it with his son's, but decided it would be untoward to pry and the information he obtained would be anecdotal.

He watched the two children instead, fascinated by their interaction. The girl was attempting to teach Spock the simple rules of her block game, but Spock seemed more interested in her. She grew bored with Spock's inattention, stood, and kicked the blocks into his face before skipping in the direction of her mother.

Spock chased after her and she shoved him hard in the chest, knocking him backwards. Sarek expected another fit, but none came: Spock seemed too transfixed by the girl to care about her physical assault and stood to pursue her a second time.

The women took her daughter's hands, drew her close, and said "T'Kosa, that was unacceptable."

It was a simple statement made with direct eye contact, and something about their posture led Sarek to suspect they were communicating telepathically. All Vulcan parents initiated bonds with their children at birth, but Sarek had never attempted to reach his son's mind in this way. He could not recall either of his parents ever linking their minds to his to speak to him, and so he had never considered it with his own child. _It was certainly a thought._

A nurse called for them, so Sarek gathered Spock and followed her to a small room down a long hallway. The healer quickly scanned Spock, and though she declared his digestive tract free of porcelain debris, she extracted a piece of dried fruit that had been lodged in his left nostril. She used a specialized dermal regenerator to repair the damage to the inside of his mouth, but was unable to make Spock's bruises fade any quicker than they naturally would.

Spock was enamored with the healer and reached for her each time she returned to her workstation to make notes, squirming in Sarek's lap to chase after her. As she prepared discharge documents, he became aware of a distinct odor, and knew Spock had soiled himself. The healer noticed also, and glanced around the room.

"Did you bring additional supplies to care for him?" she asked.

 _No, he hadn't._

Amanda always carried an oversized brown bag full of diapers, wipes, snacks, toys, blankets, power packs, and various other accessories. She had left it for him by the door, but in his rush to get Spock to the hospital, he had forgotten it.

A nurse took Spock to change him into a clean diaper and the healer turned to the bite on his finger, which left Sarek free to ask about his son.

"At what age are children normally toilet-trained?"

"Between two and three years of age, most parents choose to begin toilet-training as their child demonstrates certain physical, behavioral, and cognitive signs."

"Specify."

"A child may show a desire for autonomy, and as he becomes capable of feeding or dressing himself with moderate proficiency, that can be an indication that he is capable of learning to use the toilet on his own. Your son might be too immature to begin training at this juncture, but he is showing signs he will be ready soon."

"This morning Spock undressed himself twice. Is this…"

" _Typical_? Yes. It is also one of the signs he is ready to start learning to use a toilet independently. Many children begin undressing as a means of relieving themselves of uncomfortable clothing, seeking attention, or simply to perform a newly acquired skill."

"He often refuses to comply with simple instructions which I am certain he understands-"

"Which is also common for a child his age."

"I am merely concerned that he is not developing the control necessary to properly function. As he is half human, I-"

"Ambassador Sarek, I do not specialize in child development, but I have five children of my own," she interrupted. "I believe your son is quite normal. I am not as familiar with early human development, but from personal and professional experience, Spock does not appear to be atypical for a Vulcan child. If you are truly concerned, I can refer to you a developmental specialist, but in my professional opinion, that would be unnecessary."

"I understand that all children can be challenging at times, but Spock seems to be exceptionally willful and prone to illogic and injury."

"Prolonged periods of defiance and illogic are nearly universal in very young, sentient children of almost all species. Most Vulcan children are not capable of formal logic training until age four because they lack the requisite self-control and attention. Therefore it is impractical to attempt to reason with Spock: he must simply be told what is expected of him, and what is incorrect behavior."

The nurse returned with Spock, who clapped with delight upon seeing the healer again. Sarek glanced at her, and she reiterated, "This is also not unusual behavior."

Sarek stood and thanked the nurse, and half an hour later they left the hospital. He permitted him to walk rather than carry him, and Spock willingly allowed himself to be strapped into the safety seat. He closed the rear door and spoke briefly to the valet, who mentioned a problem with the shuttlecar's rear reaction control system.

When Sarek reached for the door handle, he found it locked. He peered through the tinted windows and discovered Spock free of his restraint harness and playing with the automated locks, which were precariously close to the ignition system.

His son unquestionably needed guidance, but it was proving difficult enough to stay one step ahead of his innate desire for terrorism, danger, and injury. _Surely this could not be normal._


	5. Lessons

Fourteen seconds of inattention. That's all it had taken. He was fortunate that his son found the locking mechanisms more interesting than the ignition switch. Sarek drove home to a cacophony of Spock's frustration. A simple pin inserted into the buckle across Spock's chest prevented his clumsy fingers from plying the two ends apart. Spock was _not_ pleased.

As he pulled the shuttlecar into the garage, Spock's high-pitched voice began to chatter again, extolling his joy for things like "home" and "EE-Shaya." He lifted him from the restraints, clutched him to his side, and stared at the small child.

"Hi," Spock exclaimed. "Hello. Hi. Hello."

He was oblivious to the dark bruises on his face. It was remarkable that his son could be so resilient, but unfortunate that he did not learn from his injuries and mistakes.

There was much Sarek wished to discuss with the irrational being hanging from his hip, and though the dialogue might flow in both directions, it was apparent the understanding would be mostly one-sided. He felt compelled to discipline his son, but questioned how effective punishment would be when not immediately delivered following a transgression.

Spock's eyes were large and hopeful, shifting from Sarek to the floor. "Putmedownplease."

"If I put you down, will you cause trouble?"

"No."

"Do you know what 'cause trouble' means?"

"Trouble?"

"Yes."

"Putmedownplease."

"Spock, are you listening to me?"

"Yes."

"What did I just ask?"

"No."

"It was not question that can be answered with either yes or no."

" _Yes_?"

He thought of the woman mind melding with her daughter in the waiting room and considered the possibility. Melding was a very personal thing, and Spock's mind was still pliant and his cognitive abilities were not fully developed. He would prefer to avoid the practice until Spock was older and understood the process and could consent to it.

He walked into the rear entry of the house and Spock repeated, "Putmedownplease."

Sarek ignored him and Spock continued to echo his desire to descend to the ground. His father's failure to acknowledge him clearly annoyed him, and he began to poke Sarek in the chest.

They walked past the entry to the kitchen and Sarek observed the destruction on the floor. It occurred to him that Amanda had sent him a message about giving Spock a plastic bowl. How curious that he could have forgotten about it. The poking continued amidst a series of low growls and whines.

"Hungry," Spock announced.

"You are hungry?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you elect to throw your food on the floor?" Sarek asked, pointing to the dry cereal and porcelain debris littering the kitchen.

"Not want."

"That was what was offered to you. It was ungrateful to refuse it, and bad behavior to throw it on the ground."

"Hungry," Spock insisted, beginning to struggle against Sarek's grip.

"You will eat when it is time for the evening meal."

" _Now_?"

"When it is time for the evening meal," Sarek repeated, wondering how well Spock understood the concept of time.

Judging by his rants for "food _now_ ," and "hungry _now_ ," Sarek theorized Spock's grasp of time was likely focused solely in the present.

He eyed the debris on the kitchen floor and looked at his son, who was pawing at Sarek's shirt in disbelief at the unfairness of being denied food. Fourteen seconds in a shuttlecar… Only fourteen seconds for Spock to arm himself for unconscionable disaster.

He needed a way to safely, gently, and easily restrain his son while he cleaned the wreckage of the kitchen and the rest of the house. He considered a number of strategies, dismissing each as either too cruel or too ineffective when he recalled the mystery of the force field on Spock's door. Spock had disabled it twice. How?

Sarek strode down the hall with his son secured in his arms, taking care to disturb the mirror in the hallway. He set Spock on the floor of his bedroom and offered him the Rubik's cube.

Spock hurled the toy at him: evidently the pangs of his empty belly were not so easily assuaged. His aim was clumsy but that was irrelevant at so short a distance. A sharp corner of the cube bounced off Sarek's shin, sending a ripple of pain through his lower leg. He took Spock by the wrist of the offending hand, bent down, and said in the most simplistic language he could manage, "That hurt me."

" _Hungry_!"

Sarek picked up the Rubik's cube and showed it to Spock, who reached for it a second time. Sarek pulled it away before his son's tiny fingers could grasp it, explaining, "I am taking this from you. You will not have it back today."

Spock's face knotted in confusion as he reached up for the toy in Sarek's hands. "Mine," he whimpered.

"You hurt me with it," Sarek explained. "You do not deserve to have it."

"Dessert?"

" _Deserve_."

This revelation left Spock even more baffled. Sarek took the Rubik's cube and left the room, making sure to engage the force field behind him. He glided down the hall, hearing the sounds of Spock's demands for food and his stolen toy grow fainter. He positioned himself at the entry to the kitchen, and thanks to adjusting the mirror in the hallway, he had a view of Spock's doorway.

A full minute passed before Spock appeared in the mirror's reflection. It was difficult to tell from his position, but Spock was holding something small and seemed to be wedging it between the force field generator and the doorjamb. Sarek's ears detected a faint pop, and then he watched Spock scamper from his room and move in the direction of the kitchen.

He met his father at the kitchen's entry, but rather than make further declarations for food or demand the return of his toy, his eyes widened and he turned and fled. In two long steps, Sarek caught him under the armpits and held him out while Spock's short legs continued to run in midair.

He rotated his son and held him at eye level. Spock stopped writhing and regarded his father with wary confusion.

"How did you get through the door?"

"Get to door?"

" _Through_. Get _through_ it? How did you get out of your room?"

Spock's jaw hung open and he cocked his head to the left, his wispy eyebrows furrowed in thought. Sarek carried him back to his bedroom and set him on the floor.

"How did you get out?" Sarek asked, pointing to the field generator.

"Get out?"

Spock peeked up at him in ignorance, but Sarek spied a small, flat, square object by the wall and stooped to pick it up. The back was painted black, but he flipped it over to reveal a mirror. It was a chip from a children's game called vallar heh keh-vlalar. The edges were rough from apparent bite marks, but it was certainly thin enough to fit through the space between the generator and the frame of the door.

Sarek understood the scientific principle behind Spock's method of escape well enough — the mirror was reflecting the low-energy beam away from the metal doorframe back to its source, shorting out the generator. Spock didn't need to know how it worked to know _that_ it worked, and Sarek was impressed by his ability to improvise and problem-solve.

Sarek activated the force field, listening for the distinct hum of the energy barrier, and then pointed to the device again. "Will you show me?"

"Show?"

He wasn't certain how capable Spock was of understanding deception or a desire for secrecy, but was interested how his son would respond to the prompt. He offered Spock the chip and he tottered forward to the door, looking back to Sarek for guidance.

"Open the door, Spock."

It was impossible to determine what was going through his young mind, but Spock seemed unsure of providing a demonstration. Amanda likely scolded him each time he escaped from his room, so perhaps he was aware that this activity was forbidden. If that were true, it seemed reasonable to conclude that Spock at least understood that it was wrong to disobey, and disobedience would result in punishment. Spock attempted to return the chip to his father, but Sarek crossed his arms.

"You will not get into trouble. Open the door."

"Trouble?"

"No trouble," Sarek confirmed.

It took a few moments for Spock to decide to comply, but when he turned back to the door, he worked with impressive precision for having such small fingers. Four seconds later, the force field was inactive.

" _Door_ ," Spock announced, offering the chip to Sarek.

He examined the child at his feet, staring upwards at his father in search of approval. Sarek was caught in the midst of a paradigm shift. Spock was willful, opinionated, and reckless, but he was also intelligent, curious, and eager to please, so long as the task also pleased him. _Perhaps it was only a matter of piquing his interest_.

"Do you want to learn to use a screwdriver?"

Spock's face became alight with curiosity. " _Scroojiver_?

"Come with me."

He carried Spock to the garage and located the all-purpose pneumatic driver, ensured the power pack was removed from the base, and showed it to his son. He was so absorbed in his fascination with the heavy tool that he completely forgot the indignity of being denied a second lunch or the loss of his toy. When they returned to Spock's room, he set him down and installed the power pack.

"Watch," he told Spock.

The command was unnecessary because Spock's eyes were already trained on the device in Sarek's hands. After examining the space between the door and the device, as well as the thickness of the chip, he set an appropriate depth for the drill and drove one of the bolts holding the force field generator in place further into the wall.

"Now you try," Sarek said, motioning for Spock to come forward.

He set his tiny hands on the drill, helping him support the weight, and guided it toward the second bolt.

"Push the orange button," Sarek explained, pointing to the trigger-like device on the bottom of the compression screwdriver. " _Here_."

He complied, and a gentle hiss of air erupted from the back, causing him to shriek and jump back in simultaneous surprise and glee. "Again!" Spock declared, pointing back to the generator on the doorjamb.

He allowed Spock to drive in the two remaining bolts, and when they were finished, the reflective chip would no longer fit in the gap between the device and the doorframe.

"Thank you," Sarek said, standing to return the screwdriver to the garage.

"Welcome!" Spock cried. " _Again_?"

"We are finished. And now I need to clean the house before your mother returns home. Will you stay in your room?"

"Want scroojiver," Spock replied.

Sarek discreetly disengaged the power pack and held it at Spock's eye level.

"Please," Sarek corrected. "I want the screwdriver, please."

"I want ta skewdriver please."

He offered the tool to his son. It was heavier than Spock anticipated and he momentarily struggled under the weight, but the expression of joy scribbled on his face caused Sarek to suspect it would keep him occupied for a while. "I am leaving you here while I clean. Will you stay here in your room?"

Spock was already off, attempting to drive non-existent bolts and screws into the frame of his bed. Without the power pack, the screwdriver was useless. It also had no removable parts or sharp bits like older models, and he couldn't conceive of a way Spock could hurt himself with it. Then again, Spock was innovative when it came to disaster and injury.

He activated the force field and decided to hurry. It took half an hour to locate the cleaning supplies and wash the blood and urine from his bathroom floor, mop up the urine on the floor of his study, and sweep up the cereal and broken bowl from the kitchen. He surveyed the result, thinking Amanda might not be as upset as he supposed. Spock had a few cuts and bruises, but surely she could accept those were natural byproducts of his destructive and probing personality?

He poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. In the reflection of the canted hallway mirror, he could see Spock sitting on the floor of his bedroom, his face leaning against the corner of the doorframe, staring pitifully from his temporary makeshift prison. Sarek dismissed a brief, unidentifiable emotion, consumed the rest of his water, and went to collect his son.

Spock scrambled to his feet when he heard the sound of his father's footsteps approaching. Sarek stopped in front of the doorway and crossed his arms. "May I return the screwdriver to the garage?"

"Let open? Let out?" Spock begged. "Please?"

He nodded, deactivating the force field to enter the room. Spock ogled the newly formed escape route, and Sarek wondered what impulse, what _instinct_ , would compel him to run away at any available opportunity. To his surprise, Spock remained by his side.

"Pick up the screwdriver and follow me," Sarek instructed, choosing to build on the momentum of Spock's newfound obedience.

Miracles were illogical, but the fact that Spock readily complied with the request and followed him to the garage was astonishing. As Sarek returned the pneumatic driver and power pack to the appropriate case, he heard Spock say, "Computer."

Sarek glanced at the shelf below that housed his former private workstation. He had upgraded to a newer system three years earlier but chose to retain the older model for parts. "Yes, that is a computer."

The screwdriver had provoked considerable fascination in his son, but the computer seemed to possess an allure that wholly captivated him. Sarek looked from the tip of his son's outstretched index finger to the obsolete machine, and half an hour later they were sitting together on the floor of the front sitting room surrounded by computer parts.

Spock explored each port and dock of the wireless system with enormous zeal. It took Sarek a bit of time to fix the holographic keyboard projector and bring the voice-activated microphone online, not because he was chasing after Spock but because Spock continued to crawl in his lap, demanding to know in simplistic but effective language what each thing was and how it worked.

When he finally powered the computer on, Spock's eyes glowed as brightly as the terminal screen. As Sarek worked to manually engage the operating system, Spock eagerly pointed to symbols he recognized, surprising Sarek at his fluency with Vulcan letters and numerals.

"Seven, four, six!" Spock cheered, pointing to each in turn.

Spock's desire to explore the computer never waned, and for the next three hours, Sarek showed him basic commands and programs and allowed him to play with the various components. Soon Spock was yawning but refused to be torn away from the device. Though he fought his exhaustion valiantly, eventually he fell asleep sitting upright with his face pressed to the screen of the terminal.

Sarek gently collected him and laid him on the couch, taking a seat next to him to rest and reflect upon the chaotic day. It wasn't long before he joined his son in a wilderness of dreams.


	6. Amanda

She had wanted to be home by the afternoon, but the sun was fading over the horizon. It would be time for dinner when she arrived, and she hadn't heard from her husband in hours. Why hadn't he answered any of her messages or transmissions?

Sarek always said worry was illogical, but she couldn't shake the sinking feeling in her gut. She had tried to tell him that their son could be a handful, but he'd been so calm and confident about his parenting abilities. So had _she_ … and then Spock started walking and talking. She urged the shuttlecar faster.

When she stepped through the doorway from the garage into the rear entry, the house was dark. A beam of light streamed into the hallway from the kitchen, and she heard a weird scratching noise that sounded like one of the pet dishes.

"Sarek?"

"Ko-mekh?" replied her son's high-pitched voice from the kitchen.

Ko-mekh: the Vulcan word for mother. She smiled. "Spock?"

" _Ko-mekh_!"

She strode toward the kitchen, but upon reaching the stream of light, recoiled in horror. The door to the food preservation unit was wide open, and most of the contents of the lower shelves littered the floor. I-Chaya was covered in what looked like dark brown mud and was licking the remnants of kaasa juice from the floor and Euclid, their cat, was sleeping halfway in the pantry with a bloated belly, his tail gently patting the floor in contentment.

" _Spock_! What have you _done_?" she hissed.

She scanned the wasteland of her kitchen looking for her son and heard the clang of metal on the stone floor of the kitchen. When he teetered around the central island, she stifled a scream. His face was covered in bruises and his clothes were spattered with food, but he had _blood_ slicked all over the lower half of his face and arms.

He stumbled toward her with unbridled glee, arms outstretched and calling her name. She stepped forward, falling to her knees in shock to clutch him to her chest and scour his body for the source of the blood. He was _sticky_.

She sniffed his hair, noting the sweet smell of nei-savas preserves. The green slime on his arms was _jelly_ — not blood. Relief compelled her to laugh and she picked him up and held him tightly.

"Spock, what happened to your face?" she asked.

She cradled his jaw to examine the damage more closely, noting a cut on his chin that had been mended with a dermal regenerator. Spock was certainly no stranger to injury, but the bruises were _dark_.

"Door hit," he mumbled.

His breath on her face made her recoil.

"Were you eating _cat_ food?"

Spock's eyes lit up in joy and he nodded and twisted his body back in the direction of the food bowl.

" _Why_?"

"Dinner. Euclid and EE-Shaya eat. I eat."

"Yes, I see that."

She never left food down for the animals because Spock would either play with it or eat it, but he'd managed to get into the pantry and open the jugs of pet food. Kibble was strewn across the floor and went a long way toward explaining why the cat was lying in the middle of the food trail with a distended stomach. She was annoyed, but cat food was far from the worst thing her son had ever consumed.

"Did your father feed you dinner?"

Spock shook his head. White-hot anger pulsed through her. She expected a few hiccups and hoped the experience of watching Spock for a day would humble her husband a bit and get him to stop criticizing her parenting, but to let their son go _hungry_ …

"Where is he?"

"Sleep."

That didn't make any sense. Sarek barely slept at night, let alone during the day. Dread nibbled away at her anger as she stormed out of the kitchen.

" _Sarek_?"

She saw a small light drifting from the front room and headed in that direction.

" _Computer, li_ -"

She hesitated before turning on the overhead lights. The dim glow of the room was coming from a computer terminal and illuminated the room just enough for her to see Sarek's face was also smeared with the thick, green jelly. She slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a deep, guttural laugh and looked down at Spock.

"There he is!" Spock cheered.

" _Shhhh_ ," she said, continuing to snort through her laughs. "Spock, did you do that to your father?"

"He hungry," Spock, said pointing his stubby index finger in Sarek's direction. "Dinner."

"You were trying to feed your father dinner?"

Spock nodded.

"Oh my sweet, _sweet_ boy," Amanda giggled, pulling him into a secure hug.

Spock started to ask to be put down, but she held her finger to her lips and said, "Why don't we get you cleaned up? Tell me all about your day."

She took him to the bathroom and set him in the sonic shower and began to ask questions about his and Sarek's activities. His vocabulary was growing by leaps and bounds, but she still sometimes had trouble understanding him. The more she corrected him, the better he got, and it made her proud to know he was beginning to communicate effectively in short sentences, though he often still used single words when she let him get away with it. He was more Vulcan than Sarek would like to admit — not yet two years old and an aficionado of brevity.

She was both dismayed and bemused to learn about his naked adventures outside and trip to the doctor, and there was also something about I-Chaya killing "not Euclid" and a screwdriver and a broken door. His trip to the doctor was the result of eating "sharp cereal," and apparently sharp cereal was the result of throwing one of her good dishes on the floor when he wanted the "barkamyak," which she supposed was the leftover barkaya marak from the previous evening.

She sighed. Why hadn't Sarek listened to her about the plastic dishes? Still, it was hard to be mad at Sarek, because she was at the healer or nearby emergency room approximately twice a month because of Spock's misadventures, and she _knew_ what the boy was capable of. Just last week he'd leapt off the back of the couch and she'd been terrified he'd cracked his skull.

Sarek was but a babe in the woods when it came to their son's natural affinity for danger and self-destruction. She knew from her waiting room experiences that she was just one of many in a parade of parents who routinely delivered their toddlers into the hands of physicians for all manner of burns, lacerations, fractures, poisonings, puncture wounds, and other miscellaneous trauma.

When she asked about the computer assembled on the floor of the sitting room, Spock began to chatter incessantly, explaining that Sarek had shown him how to put it together and use it. She couldn't recall the last time she'd seen him so happy, and felt a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest. Had Sarek found a way to bond with Spock? Or had Spock's exuberant emotions only disappointed him?

"Want computer," Spock said. "Please."

Her eyebrows shot upward. Had her son just said "please?" She'd been working on that for months.

"Are you ready to get dressed for bed?" she asked, scooping up her naked child and carrying him to his bedroom.

"Not bed," he whined. "Not tired. Computer."

She grimaced. Now that his nap schedule was thrown off, he'd probably be awake all night. "Are you ready to go wake up your father?"

Spock nodded and said, "Computer. Putmedownplease."

Another "please." Apparently Sarek's day with Spock hadn't been a _complete_ disaster. Then she noted the bruises on his face and sighed. The sight of her husband slathered with sugary jelly and snoring softly on the couch induced a fit of uncontrollable snickering. Spock watched her with curiosity and started mimicking her laugh.

" _Shhhh_ ," she urged, putting her hand to her mouth.

She debated the best way to rouse her husband from his sleep. She wanted to play a practical joke on him and ask Spock to hide and _then_ wake Sarek, demanding to know what happened to their son. She would have done it too, if she weren't afraid of teaching Spock that it was funny to hide from his father.

Part of her wanted him to feel the same terror she had when she walked into the kitchen and thought their son was badly hurt. Too bad Vulcans weren't prone to feeling terror. She rotated Spock to her other hip and ventured forward, shaking Sarek firmly on the shoulder.

" _Sarek_?"

His eyelids peeled back, revealing drowsy, unfocused eyes. " _Hmmm_?"

"How was your nap?" she asked, swallowing her biting tone as best she could.

He bolted to a sitting position, and when he put his hands down to brace himself to stand, he became aware of the nei-savas jelly. His face remained placid while he glanced from her to Spock.

" _Hi_!"

"Spock," he replied.

As he worked the muscles of his face, he seemed to realize it was covered in a sticky substance. It took everything Amanda had to avoid flopping down on the floor into a fit of laughter — never in her life had she been more thankful for the calming techniques Sarek had shown her during the early days of their marriage. This exercise was best carried out with a straight face.

"Spock tells me you both had an eventful day," Amanda said in earnest. "Why don't you tell me about it over dinner?"

"You prepared end meal? What time did you arrive home?" Sarek asked, still pretending like he didn't notice the coat of jelly on his hands, shirt, and face.

"Oh, just now," she explained. "I haven't had a chance to make anything, but I think there might be some cat food left. That's what _Spock_ ate. Of course, you might have to fight Euclid and I-Chaya for it, but I'm sure there are leftovers."

The muscles of his face remained frozen, but by the dim glow of the computer screen, she could see panic and confusion sparkling in his eyes.

" _That's right_ ," she thought. " _Squirm._ "

They moved to the kitchen without a word, and Amanda nonchalantly stepped over the open jars, bowls, and decanters strewn over the ground. She caught Sarek's face in the reflection of the door over the glass oven and held her breath. There was something special about watching her husband, an accomplished diplomat and a brilliant astrophysicist struggle to comprehend the disaster their son had wrought on their kitchen while he slept. She grabbed the dishtowel from the hook, wetted it, and tossed it at him. He deftly caught it, gave her a pointed look, and began wiping the jelly from his hands and cheeks.

"Spock thought you might be hungry," she explained. Amanda couldn't hold it in any longer. From deep within her belly a rumbling laugh emerged, igniting a chain reaction of mirth until tears streamed down her cheeks and even Spock was staring at her with nervous curiosity.

"Oh, am I- am I- setting a bad example?" she hiccupped. "For our son? You know, by laughing?"

She didn't intend for the words to be so bitter, but there they were, spoken and raw. Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. She loved her husband and knew that her husband loved her, but when it came to Spock, they had so many disagreements.

Sarek loved Spock — he would never use the word _love_ , instead claiming that Spock was merely an extension of himself — but he was so cold and unforgiving toward him. Their son wasn't even two years old, and Sarek expected too much. They had agreed to raise him as Vulcan, but Amanda still detested the idea that soon her son would abandon his baby giggles and bright-eyed wonder for muted expressions and exacting inquiry.

"I wish to apologize," Sarek finally said. "I believe I have been unfairly critical of you."

Her jaw fell open. She turned to Spock, and touching her forehead to his, asked, "Can I trust you to play in your room quietly while I clean up this mess?"

"Door broke," Spock exclaimed.

"Huh?"

"The force field generator — Spock discovered how to short the sensors using a reflective chip from a children's game," Sarek explained. "Quite ingenious."

Had he just paid their overly emotional, hellion toddler a compliment? Another bombshell.

"I enlisted his assistance in securing the mount more tightly to the wall. I think you will find he is unable to free himself so easily now."

She shot him a sad yet hopeful look and walked over the debris on the floor to the exit that led into the hallway.

"Rubiss cube?" Spock murmured, pointing to the block resting on the counter.

"You solved it!" Amanda exclaimed, picking it up to admire the brightly colored toy.

"It is a puzzle?" Sarek asked from behind her.

"Yes, you didn't know?"

"Want," Spock moaned. "Please."

"I removed it from his possession because he threw it at me in a moment of anger."

" _Spock_!" Amanda chastised. " _Apologize_."

"I do not believe he can appreciate the nature of an offense committed so long ago," Sarek replied.

Amanda sighed and strolled down the hallway, with Spock calling "Sorry, sorry, sorry," over her shoulder to his father. She deposited him in his room but kept the Rubik's cube, reminding him that he knew better than to throw things. Spock began to whine, but she walked away without a second thought, engaged the force field on the door, and strode down the hallway, jumbling the Rubik's cube. As she passed her husband she tossed it to him. He was a smart man — surely he could figure it out.

"Of all his wrongdoings and misbehavior, why admonish him for throwing things?" Sarek asked as they entered this kitchen.

His focus was trained on the cube, turning the blocks over with careful consideration.

"I guess you probably figured out he can find more ways to get himself in trouble in one minute than you would think is possible," Amanda began, watching her husband work at the toy. "And _sure_ , he has temper tantrums because he doesn't know how to control his emotions, but first he needs to learn to control his actions. Hurting people isn't ok. He used to bite and kick and it took a lot of work, but he doesn't do those things anymore. It's just _patience_ , Sarek. I thought Vulcans had that in infinite supply."

Sarek was too engrossed in solving the Rubik's cube to immediately reply, and she snapped, "The point is to make each side the same color."

His eyes darted in her direction. "I surmised as much."

She scowled, crossed her arms, and wheeled around to sop up the disaster that was their kitchen. A few seconds later, Sarek was triumphant in his battle with the toy and set it on the counter to begin assisting her cleanup efforts.

"So tell me about the doctor's office," she probed.

Another careful glance, returned with one of her scowls.

"He ratted you out," she explained, fighting off a laugh. "So you might as well skip the meticulously abridged version that omits the really bad stuff."

Her mood improved as she listened to Sarek's version of the day's events that began with Spock peeing on the floor of his office and running around the house naked. She groaned. He was doing _that_ again?

She was horrified to hear about the sa-te-kru, realizing that I-Chaya wasn't covered in dirt but dried blood. It was even worse listening to him recount the tetralubisol incident — though that explained the weird chemical smell — and Spock's encounter with a broken porcelain bowl. She'd had too many close calls with their son to be angry, so she did the only thing she could do. She laughed.

"I did not imagine you would find it so comical," he said, sitting next to her on the floor, propping his back on the lower cupboards.

"It is and it isn't. Spock is a handful, but he's growing up so fast," Amanda admitted, feeling a wave of sadness. "There are days I wish I could keep him small, and then he goes and destroys the kitchen and I can't wait for him to be an adult. Yes, I know it's illogical."

"Spock is in a critical stage of his development," Sarek said. "He is intelligent and-"

"But you want him to be more Vulcan. I _know_ ," she sighed, resting her head on the cabinet. "I thought about it all day today, and I know we agreed to raise him as a Vulcan child. It's just hard to accept that he isn't my little baby anymore."

She expected Sarek to deliver some speech about logic and age progression, but none came. He took her hand in ozh'esta, and she felt the warm, calming sensation of the finger embrace elevate her mood.

"Anyway," she finished. "I got offered a part-time position at Shi'Kahr Academy today teaching cultural linguistics."

"Congratulations," Sarek replied. "It is well deserved."

"Yes, well, even before that, I was thinking you were right. A Vulcan nanny wouldn't be the worst thing for him. It still breaks my heart thinking that Spock needs something that I can't give him, but I'm not Vulcan, and I don't know how to teach him to be one."

"You are still his mother, and he still needs you," Sarek said.

Her husband never ceased to amaze her. He could be so ruthless in his logic much of the time, only to turn around and be tender. She squeezed his hand and faced him.

"I know you think it goes without saying, but I love you."

He helped her to her feet and offered to prepare dinner, and she left to collect Spock from his room. She found him lying facedown on the rug in his room, snoring loudly and cuddling with a pleenok puzzle. She carefully pulled him from the floor and tucked him into bed, surprised he was still tired after his sleep schedule had been ruined, though she refused to question it.

"I can't believe I'm letting my son go to bed with a tummy full of jelly and cat food," she moaned, patting him on the arm.

It wasn't unusual to feel like a failure, but she never stopped doing the best she could. She watched him for a short time, peaceful in his sleep. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, wondering how many more she would get before her son became a smaller version of his father. As she stood and turned out the lights, she felt tears fill her eyes but was surprised to find Sarek standing in the doorway.

"End meal is ready," he announced.

"Ok, let's go," she said, smiling to push away the moisture brimming in her eyes.

"I shall join you in a moment," Sarek replied.

The request took her by surprise, but she turned and headed toward the kitchen, watching Sarek enter the bedroom in the crooked hallway mirror. She was Spock's mother, but Sarek was his father, and she supposed there were just some things between fathers and sons that she was never meant to understand.

She smiled.

" _They grow up so fast_ ," she thought.


End file.
